O Franklin is a Princess,She sits on seven hills,And looks down through the valleyAt churches, schools and mills.She looks down in the valley,And sees the smoke clouds swellFrom hearth fires that are kindledAt early bell.

Or if Smiling SpiritShould beckon from the lake,Up Willow Hill ascending,Your happy way you'll take,And pass the old stone mortarWhere "squaws"* first ground their corn, -It stands and waits in silenceQuite forlorn.

'Tis View Street for the sunset,(Or Bible Hill for saint,)And Sanborn Street for healing,For sick, and weak, and faint.The Princess loves them truly,Each height surveys with prideAt one she stops and lingersLong beside.

For that hill holds the ashesOf those she loved who died;It holds them up to Heaven,And so, rests satisfied.And there the Princess lingers,And reads a neighbors name,And sighs and weeps at failure,Forgetting blame.

O Franklin is a Princess,She sits on seven hills,She looks down through the valleyCrowded with clicking mills,She sees the two soft riversRush headlong down to wed, -In work, play, beauty, service,At the head.